The Stopped Watch
by CrazyKatChan07
Summary: Time never changed for him. He got more decrepit, I gave him what he needed to be young. Because that's what I was born to do. I was born to feed and care for Sherlock Holmes, the vampire. All because my last name was Hudson. NOT MEANT TO BE SherlockxOC
1. Chapter 1

"Holmes?" The man never ceased to amaze me, not even after 25 years of being around the man. My mother always said to watch yourself around him – he could come from anywhere at anytime.  
He had this problem where he liked to frighten his guests. Mostly because his only guest was, well, me. Occasionally my mother would drop by for a moment, but that hadn't happened in years.  
I'd found him hiding in the fireplace once. That had to be the oddest place I had ever seen his head stick out of. Wasn't fire bad for his kind, I asked. He proceeded to go into a long drabble about trying to find a solution to that, except he was mostly nude because his clothes had burned off.  
"Holmes, I have dinner and letters." I knew if I baited him he would show himself. It was hard enough in his dark Victorian-style flat to see. I knew he could see perfectly well, but I could only see what was bathed in the firelight.  
"What if…your beloved automobiles could travel upside down…on the ceilings of tunnels."  
…He was on the ceiling. Probably half dazed. I rarely noticed the spiked tobacco smell anymore. I was always curious where he bought it, since he only went outside at night. Made me wonder if the spiked tobacco was really pot, but I never had the balls to ask. I just always expected that it was sweet tobacco with a small amount of cocaine in it – his persona drug. Quite a different way to administer it, but once again, I didn't know for sure.  
"Come down, Holmes, please?" I set the large bag I was carrying on his table, fishing out a smaller box and a rubber-band-wrapped stack of envelopes. The man still received letters from people wanting him to do their cases – they all thought he was a man who changed his name to Holmes and was a bit crazy for it, but nonetheless – and government entities wishing of his services. In my life, I would never forget the time I saw him being escorted back to his home by two large men in suits out of a black SUV. When asked, he said it was nothing. Must have been more government work.  
It took nanoseconds for him to be sitting in his beloved leather chair next to me. It startled me quite a bit, and I fell back into what I guessed would have once been Watson's chair and letters scattered all over me.  
"You are a bit clumsy, aren't you, nanny."  
"Thank you for that…astute observation, Mr. Holmes." I grumbled. Why did I stay here for college? Oh yeah, to take care of a man that makes fun of me on a regular basis.  
He moved towards the small box I had brought out, but I snatched it as quickly as I could. I knew he could take it from me with ease, but he knew the rules. That only meant that there were more things I couldn't see in the light. I was always frightened of what I would see some days – one of those days was today.  
"Not yet. I'll set that up before I leave…" He only mumbled and reached to his pipe on the table to fiddle with it in his hands. I tucked the box behind my back in the seat. I knew my back was going to kill me in a few minutes for it, but it was for his own good.  
"Is that something you received from your father's family? Your mother was one of grace and-"  
"Infernal nagging, yes Holmes, I know what you're going to say. And yes, my father is clumsy." I was trying to resort the letters I had scattered over myself quickly before he got bored and started to dig through my things. Not that he wouldn't anyway, he had this thing about him where he had to be nosy into my personal life. Probably because I was his only true friend anymore.  
"That was not what I was going to say, _nanny_."  
"What then?"  
But he kept quiet. And I wanted to wring his neck, but I knew better than to think that was possible to happen. So, I went blithely on.  
"The Grady's thank you for helping them find their daughter's body…and there's a check. Huh."  
He made some sort of affirmative noise and chewed on the end of his pipe, surely looking for his stash of tobacco or thinking about it. I hated the smell of it when he had it puffing, but I knew better than to comment. Then he would be smoking every week when I came.  
"Alright…the FBI wants to know-"  
"Not interested."  
"I haven't even finished Holmes-"  
"I don't plan on working with that group of buffoons again. Worse than Scotland Yard, really…"  
"Uh…huh. Well then. I'll just leave those to you to dig through at your leisure. I'll deposit the check…"  
"Could you order some more tea leaves, nanny." He was staring off into the fire again. I knew better than to look at him in the light. His eyes at night always did frighten me. Even knowing this man so long, I still held an apprehension to be around him at certain times.  
"Surely, I'll have them sent by Friday-"  
"How fresh is it?" He cut me off quickly. I wondered why for a moment, trying to decipher his words, but then I remembered and realized.  
"Yesterday morning."  
"Mmh. Your wound didn't heal correctly."  
I forgot how acute he was to small changes in me. After years of keeping him alive, he knew the smallest changes in my body and when I wasn't just right. Or maybe it was just his significant sense of smell.  
"Alright, I'll look into it."  
"It could become diseased."  
"Yes, Holmes, I'll go home and clean it."  
He made no sound towards me and I moved to get up and collect my bag. Only then when I got up was I willing to hand over the box I had hidden behind my back. His hand when it touched mine was inordinately cold as usual. But the skin felt worse for wear than normal. I knew I had waited too long to come see him.  
As I walked towards the door, he mumbled something over his pipe as his hands pried at the box.  
"Give my regards to your mother, Miss Hudson."  
I said nothing more, and walked out of the New York flat with nothing more than the click of my feet on the wooden floor. I locked the door tightly behind me, and resumed my otherwise daily regimen.  
Only it involved delivering blood to a century old vampire.


	2. Chapter 2

AN – I must comment – I have never written Sherlock. It was a bit of a struggle for me early in this, then it started to come to me easier. The writing may be choppy in places, and a little discombobulated (get the joke? =3) but it seemed to me that it would make sense that way.  
The next chapter will be this happening from Sarah's point of view.

Chapter 2

She never ceased to amuse me. The most fun was being able to pinpoint her daily actions within seconds of her moving into my flat. With so few visitors, it was the most fun I had confined within my dark walls.

She always smelled of a certain lavender perfume her mother had loved as well – made in England, something that they held over from the move. The smell of a spiced lox on her clothes always told me where she had dinner – a specific bagel shop that made a salad she loved. The dirt on her shoes told me she walked through the park from her university to pick up my necessary evil.  
She wouldn't look at me. That told me how terrible I felt also seemed to be part of my appearance now.

I could sense her fear. She had been gone to see her sick mother last week, and therefore had left me in my state of affairs. She never left me so long without due necessity. We learned long ago from her mother that if left unattended, I will find other ways of procuring my bodily needs. Though, I knew the landscape of London much better than the loud streets of New York. To this day, I'm still mad about moving from my home on Baker street – but no matter.

She was afraid that I would do something rash. I had only come at her grandmother once in a fit of need, but nothing had happened. Only frightened her out of her shoes and she didn't come near me for weeks. To send an 8 year old child to me instead of yourself – does that not make sense? To put a child in danger like such? At least, that would have been my thought if I had been in company of a young vampire. What if I had taken on Elizabeth? Children did smell wonderful. But the poor girl lived on to marry, bear children and raise another girl to look after me in my time.

Sarah Hudson. She carried far too many traits similar to that of her great-grandmother. She had little patience for me in my times of boredom. Like this evening. I clearly wasn't interested in anything but the box she had been hiding from me, so she left me to my will. Unlike my normal composed human-esque self, I dove on the box and ripped it to pieces only to get the bag wrapped to a cold pack inside.

It wasn't until after the bag was deflated and the clench in my throat ceased that I was thoroughly disgusted with myself. I detested my primal urges in every shape and form, and sadly I was bound to one for life. I couldn't stand the idea of killing an intelligent creature, so I had been force fed by the Hudson women for over a century. Even in my times of complete depression, those women would find a way to drug me and stick a needle in my arm. Even after Irene…

I finally was free. I could go out. Going outside in the state I had been in would have been a terrible idea. I could smell some delectable young woman and I would be back hiding in the darkness for weeks. But finally I could smell the ocean salt and the grime of the city streets as I landed from my 5th story flat window down on the sidewalk next to a homeless man.

"Good evening Harold."

"Evenin' Mr. Holmes." The man was crazy, apparently schizophrenic, so he calling me by name and telling people that he knew Sherlock Holmes and that he was a vampire wasn't going to alert anyone to anything. He had severe cataracts and couldn't see my figure well as it was.

I reset my coat along myself and clicked the ever-beloved cane of Watson next to my foot as I wandered on down the lonely street. I could still smell Sarah's perfume going east of here, possibly to her own lodgings. She did seem perturbed by me, possibly unhappy. It only made sense to try to cheer my friend up.

"Thank you for having roast beef for lunch, it was quite delicious…"

I never would think making her jump out of her skin wasn't amusing.

"HOLMES! Don't scare me like that. You're frightening enough already…"

"I should look better now, do I not?" She had already been into a grocery and carried fruits, vegetables – vitamins, iron supplements. For my welfare, no less. As I walked next to her, coat flowing behind in the cool air of November, she finally did look at me under the light of the near streetlamp. She looked tired, overworked – too much school work? Her job getting the better of her? No, she had no job at the moment. Mother told her best to focus on school work. To take care of herself, which she clearly was trying to do but to no avail. Her green irises were pale compared to normal. My notice of her ill-healing puncture wound was correct. She had some sort of infection brewing, and she seemed to know. I didn't taste infection moments ago. Something was definitely wrong in all of this.

"Yes, Holmes, you don't look like a zombie risen from the crypt. Is there a reason you're following me?" She turned away just as quickly and kept on her way, past the men and women wandering in the darkness. It was only midnight on a Wednesday, therefore few people were on the streets instead of in their beds readying for the next morning of occupation. Not particularly the best time for a young woman such as Sarah to be out alone. Those that were out meant nothing pleasant for who they found.

"No, not particularly…just needed fresh air, moonlight, something new to excite me."

"But that involves following me how?"

She stopped, and I stopped next to her. She reached one slender hand over to brush something off of my hat and I remarked her movements. Slow and shaky. Because of fear, or lack of energy? She did seem particularly impatient with me tonight. She took her hand back once she had done whatever it had been that she saw necessary to do, then stared right into me. She looked pitiful, sad – unhappy with me? No, not just me. With enough thought and provoking, her blood could sing to me her feelings. A bond of sorts that came from taking from one person long enough. She was weary of the world and her requirements. She was weary of her mother and her schoolwork. She slept little, worked a lot, and worried much.

"Nanny, I am merely escorting you to your lodgings. It is not safe for a girl in your condition to wander alone in city streets."

"What do you mean in my condition? I'm fine, Holmes."

She turned away from me, but I, being much quicker than she, grabbed her wrist softly and yanked up the long sweater she wore to show the wound in her arm. It was a dark purple around the edges, and greenish in hue at the scab.

"You're developing an infection. This is from after the extraction. You need rest and fluids." I gently tugged her sleeve back down to her wrist and let go of her, looking at her with strong conviction. She looked as if she could tumble over at any minute.

"Your eyes are sunken and your irises are pale in comparison to normal coloring. You seem to have little energy and you are not getting enough sleep. You will collapse at this rate, nanny."

She seemed to cringe at the sound of my words, but turned again and started walking onward. I stayed in place, but watched her walk on to see if there were any other things I had missed. She was having some trouble breathing – the cold air, perhaps. Nothing I could find otherwise.

"If you need me-"

"GoodNIGHT, Holmes!" She kept on walking and turned the corner not far from where I stood, and I stared off into the blackness for a moment. I could feel her still moving. She didn't have far to walk to her own flat. In my mind, I thought to myself how curious it was how attached I have become. Being the only person I conversed with for years now, she was similar to Watson in my possession of her. Not only did she keep me as level-headed as a monster could be, but did my chores and kept me clothed. She was Mrs. Hudson and Watson wrapped into one person, and not at all by her own choice.

I wondered if I should call upon her mother in the northern part of the state. Having known the woman her entire life, I did have a sense of connection with her. She wasn't as close to me as her daughter had become, but she still haunted memories from time to time. In what I was sure were her last days, I should make my way to see her for at least some sort of kind words. She had given part of her life to me, and had forfeited her child's life as well.

With one swift kick, I was up on top of the apartment building I had been standing by, surveying the night sky of New York. Nothing like Victorian England. Too many lights and noises of cars, horns, moving trains. Technology had made this world better than what I had been born in, but I wasn't a fan of cell phones, or automobiles or computers.

I should never have seen this world. But that wasn't by my choice.


	3. Chapter 3

AN – Thought I would share this – Expression by Helen Jane Long. Listen to it. Love it. Made me think of the cute child's scene and it has the perfect feeling for Sherlock's cramped life for me –and how he tries to live somewhat through his 'nanny'.  
Is this a little OOC? Probably. Holmes-wise, I mean. Wouldn't the man be different after being alone for so long, with only one real friend? Driving them up the wall with how much he's around? Somehow or another…

Chapter 3

I had things to do – I had laundry to do, dishes to clean, homework, reading assignments for the morning, and a paper due next week to start looking at. I didn't have the time to sit and listen to Holmes' diatribe about the American government. It wasn't that he preferred England's either, especially when it came to their police force.

I didn't have far to go home. Mother made sure that we were never too far from each other, in case one of us needed something. More him needing something than me. It wasn't like he could come save me if I was throwing up at 9am. Mom didn't like me living alone in the city as it was. I was surprised that she didn't force me to live next to Holmes. Maybe it was because we had for all of my childhood that she let me be just a little farther away for once.

I stopped by a little grocery I loved to get some food. I felt like crap, and had since yesterday afternoon, but I couldn't stop to rest. I had things to do. I could be getting sick from mother – is that possible? She had been suffering from a long-term disease for years…no, Holmes said my wound wasn't doing well. He meant from when I had the blood extracted yesterday. It did hurt to put any weight on, which was why all of my bags were on my right arm. Maybe he was right, that I was getting an infection.

"Thank you for having roast beef for lunch, it was quite delicious…"

I almost ripped out of my skin jumping from the voice. He always scared me. He got some kind of enjoyment out of it, ever since I was 2 years old…When he used to sit in my windowsill and listen to the sounds of the city. I whined to my mother that there was a man sitting in my room staring at me. It wasn't until I was older that I finally met our next door neighbor, and I found out why my mother went to see him every few days for an hour or so.

"_Mommy, mommy, that's the man that used to sit in my window!"_

"_Yes Sarah, this is Sherlock. He did that to me too, when we lived in London…"_

To this day, I didn't know why he couldn't've just used his own windows. He didn't have to sit in mine.

"HOLMES! Don't scare me like that. You're frightening enough already…"

I had almost dropped my groceries and my purse, both of which had things that were liable to either break or be ruined by hard impact. I felt this overwhelming need to retaliate in some way, but I knew it would be useless. Holmes couldn't be injured or bothered even when I did hit him. Which was occasional.

"I should look better now, do I not?" I started walking again, and he followed on beside, clicking his cane with him. Why did he carry that thing? It wasn't like he needed assistance walking. And his coat wasn't necessary either. He had to keep appearances as if a human, but it always made me wonder if it was him thinking that way, or instead him keeping to his normal life as if nothing had changed. I glanced over towards him for a few moments. He didn't look like the frightening withered night creature he had in his study. He looked like a normal 40-something man wearing a waist coat and fedora. He was studying me, I could tell, and with a ferocity I wasn't used to. Like he was staring into my soul again, something I knew he could do. After all of the blood I had given him through my life, I knew he could get into my mind if he decided to. To not have one personal thought – that was frightening.

"Yes, Holmes, you don't look like a zombie risen from the crypt. Is there a reason you're following me?" I was used to seeing him in the night occasionally in my apartment, but not like this. Not him pursuing me actively. He was intrigued by something. Whatever could that be? I hadn't done anything special, or acted any differently to him. What peaked his interest?

"No, not particularly…just needed fresh air, moonlight, something new to excite me."

"But that involves following me how?"

I stopped, because I saw something on his hat – a dust bunny, I guessed. I reached up slowly to brush it off, not wanting him to walk around with that attached to his head. I was his 'nanny', after all. Sometimes that meant mother, sometimes that meant friend, and sometimes that meant nothing. At that moment, it meant mother.

His eyes were glowing. Not like glow-stick glowing, but the normal brown that he normally kept was showing the hidden red. He was looking into me. For what? What was he looking for?

"Nanny, I am merely escorting you to your lodgings. It is not safe for a girl in your condition to wander alone in city streets."

I wasn't expecting that. He must've been talking about how badly I felt. That had to be what he meant.

"What do you mean in my condition? I'm fine, Holmes." I turned away from him, trying to walk on, but he grabbed my free wrist and had my sleeve up before I noticed. The inside of my elbow was a weird color for skin, a bit of a green color. That was definitely infection. That was why I felt so terrible since yesterday. I hadn't noticed. I had so much to do in the last 24 hours I hadn't taken notice to care for myself. I had homework to catch up on, and I had to make sure I remembered to go see Holmes…

"You're developing an infection. This is from after the extraction. You need rest and fluids." He pulled my sleeve back down and stared right into me. He looked so frightening in that one moment. My natural instinct was to run, my heart was fluttering. But this was the same man that had been around to raise me and he was only concerned about me – though I wasn't sure if it was me or his next meal.

"Your eyes are sunken and your irises are pale in comparison to normal coloring. You seem to have little energy and you are not getting enough sleep. You will collapse at this rate, nanny." It was me. I knew he was right. I didn't want to think that I was ill, that I needed time off. So much to do…

"If you need me-"

"GoodNIGHT, Holmes!" I walked off, not wanting to hear whatever else there was to be heard. He loved to talk, to show off how well versed he was in his abilities. After a century, anyone would be that good. Sure, he had a little bit of supernatural help…

I rounded the corner and I could see the overhang of the door to my building. I loved how short the walk was, especially with my feet dragging as they were. I don't remember walking up the steps to the top floor, and I don't remember opening my front door.

My apartment was small – I didn't need much space. I didn't have too many knickknacks or novelties. I did have bookcase after bookcase after bookcase full of books, new, old, some even in other languages. My study of French was expanding my bibliophilism. Reading Le Fantôme de l'Opéra in the original was breathtaking, and I loved the challenge it presented.

I did have a life other than the Victorian vampire.

My kitchen, my living room, my bedroom – all were quaint. They had personal touches but otherwise simply sterile and clean. A few pictures here and there made it home just like the normal smell on the bed sheets made it bed. The open comforter was calling to me. And my body begged me so…

I sighed and did as I had been told – I put up my things, brewed some tea, and crawled into bed to read. I still had so much to do, but it wasn't going to help if I fell over on the washing machine. I didn't think my back would appreciate that in the morning when I had to lug myself to class.

I got somewhere around 20 pages in before I didn't remember reading anymore. I felt a cold touch on my overly warm forehead, and I stirred slightly with a soft noise of appreciation. It was like a soft dream moment I had before my alarm jarred me awake at 7:30.

I didn't remember turning off the light, or taking my mug back to the kitchen. Or putting my book back on the night stand for that matter.

I knew exactly who it had been, and as much as I appreciated the sentiment, it was a little scary that he could get into my apartment so easily.

I had my perfect evidence on the counter in my kitchen as I went to leave for school.

A little note from my favorite night dweller.

"Ne pas oublier mon thé."

Don't forget my tea.


End file.
